


handle with caution

by C5LOURFUL



Category: One Piece
Genre: Gen, Introspection, its a 5+1 thing i guess, please remove the vinsmoke from sanjis name, sanji uses swords and people are :0
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-12
Updated: 2018-07-12
Packaged: 2019-06-09 09:03:44
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,743
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15264057
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/C5LOURFUL/pseuds/C5LOURFUL
Summary: “Do you think you’d be able to use Santoryu?” Zoro asks in the middle of scrubbing a particularly dirty pot. Sanji doesn’t hide the groan he releases.“Of course you’d have an ulterior motive when you volunteered to wash the dishes.”Sanji’s forced into a situation too similar with the Ramen Kenpo bastard, but this time he’s got spectators- and they’re not just curious.





	handle with caution

**Author's Note:**

> no beta, i wrote this in a rush after imagining sanji... but WITH A SWORD. or two. who knows! read to find out, hope you enjoy!!

They’re in quite the bind; Zoro’s arms are buried in the damn wall, Brook and Chopper are unconscious and everyone else is  _ missing _ , and Sanji doesn’t trust that his legs won’t start falling apart with another kick at the guy.

 

He was what they all thought was another insane person with screwed ideals, and of course Luffy made friends with someone who just so happened to have a personal feud with the man, so here they were- against the big bad wolf while the rest of them were probably fighting other minions (or worse,  _ incapacitated _ , but Sanji had way too much on his mind at the moment to worry about anyone at all, even Nami-san and Robin-chan).

 

The man stands at an impressive height, towering over their exhausted bodies as he continues to rave about some plan he’s so sure wouldn’t be ruined by some “ragtag pirates”, but all Sanji can focus on is Shusui at his feet. 

 

He hasn’t used his hands to fight since the Ramen Kenpo idiot, but it really didn’t help that the dumbass standing before him was decked out in fucking  _ konjac  _ of all food. Sanji’s eyebrow twitches harder at the slap of konjac against marble as the man walks around, cuts littered around the visible parts of his body.

 

_ “Only sharp stuff work against you, huh? Reminds me of a certain idiot,” Sanji exhales a wisp of smoke, landing onto the ground next to Brook and Chopper. To think they had been beat up by the asshole even when he promised not to hurt them on the account that they were hostages. To think they had actually trusted the guy! _

 

_ “He’s the perfect opponent for me, then,” The familiar unsheathing of another katana is heard, Zoro already in position for a Santoryu attack. “Don’t get in the way, cook.” _

 

_ “Don’t let his Busoshoku Haki do you in, bastard. My strongest kicks did jack shit.” _

 

_ “Excuses,” Zoro says in response, clenching his teeth harder around Wado-Ichimonji. _

 

This and that happened, and Zoro ended up with his arms stuck  _ in _ the wall, dislocated jaw useless. Sanji’s the only available fighter left, with the undeniable knowledge that only sharp objects work against him, that he’s dressed head to toe in food, and that there’s a conveniently dropped sharp object at his feet.

 

Goddamn it all.

 

Sanji grabs the katana, heart already sinking at the unfamiliar weapon coupled with battle frenzied blood thrumming through his veins, forcing his body, not his mind, to recall the years of training he’d been put through.

 

“Hey, konjac bastard,” Sanji swings the katana a few times, walking over to pick up Wado-Ichimonji as well, purposefully sidestepping Sandai Kitetsu. Wielding the two kanatas feels only slightly different from the heavier knives he uses in the kitchen, so he’s glad for that, at least. “This situation’s suspiciously familiar to another I got into two years back, and I’d suspect some higher being’s forcing me into using my hands to fight if not for the fact that my captain’s busted God up already.” The innuendos are obviously lost to the konjac guy, and he narrows his eyes condescendingly at Sanji.

 

“Black Leg Sanji, are you not?” He sneers, picking his nose. “Surely your swordsmanship is excellent.”

 

Sanji ignores the sarcastic comment and continues. “Katanas are definitely different from kitchen knives, but it’s alright if it’s konjac I’m up against. I’m just slightly biased against the abomination, y’see.” He steels himself for another round, holding the katanas in a tight grip.

 

Sanji doesn’t want to attribute his first successful attack to the other looking down on him to the point he let his guard down, but that much was obvious and he swiftly adjusts the katanas to deflect arrows of Haki hardened konjac, and going in to dice the hideous armor to pieces when the man swings a heavy punch at him. He kicks at the air, barely dodging the strike and almost slams his foot into the man’s collarbone when his occupied hands remind him of the other weapons he has that are, unfortunately, more useful at the moment.

 

“I was informed that you were Straw Hat’s cook,” Konjac yells in absolute fury, nursing the gaping hole at his torso where his armor used to be. “You’re known to only use leg-based attacks!”

 

Combined with his strong kicks, Sanji aims a few slashes at the man’s feet, slicing the konjac thinly. “Shirataki noodles,” He jokes.

 

“Answer me, Black Leg!”

 

“Yeah, I’m his cook,” Sanji drawls, albeit proudly as his smirk widens. “It’s unfortunate that I have to prepare something this lacking in nutrients, though.”

 

The bastard’s eyebrows furrow to the point Sanji briefly wonders if they’d merge, and his scowl deepens. “I’ll have you know konjac deserves to be the king of all food!”

 

A tick forms on his forehead. “You dare say that to me,” Sanji growls, resting the katanas against a nearby rubble, lighting another cigarette. “This exchange has just given me another reason to beat you into a pulp.”

 

They clash again, both parties gaining their fair share of injuries, and Sanji can admit that’s mostly due to the fact he’s still worried about his hands despite the peril he’s in, but he gives himself plus points for managing to strip Konjac of more of his vile armor, leaving more uncovered areas exposed.

 

Sanji kicks at those areas with no mercy, quickly learning to multitask with his kicks and cuts. It wore him down considerably, though, and Sanji finds himself panting as heavily as his enemy after more attacks. His foot bumps into something at clatters after dodging another wave of arrows.

 

“Wake the hell up, Brook!” He shouts, and would have resorted to a few choice kicks if not for the tattered state he was in. “Chopper!”

 

“They’re not going to wake up anytime soon, Black Leg,” Konjac chuckles darkly. “I took some liberties with the combination of Devil Fruit users and seawater.”

 

Sanji grits his cigarette harder, glaring at Konjac with enough ferocity to kill a man. He doesn’t budge.

 

“Besides, those cuffs around their wrists are made of seastone. What’re you gonna do, step on them? It’s imposs-”

 

The crack of Sanji’s sole meeting Brook and Chopper’s cuffs cuts Konjac off easily, the cuffs falling apart like tofu makes his eyes bulge to comedic extremes, and Sanji’s blinded with rage because this absolute fool who thinks konjac should be edible at all, who uses it as his damn armor, had not only kidnapped his nakama but also put them through something they couldn’t fight against.

 

Sanji dices and slices, and as if to mock Konjac, doesn’t hesitate to cook up the pieces that fall with Diable Jambe. When he swings an arm to slice the last bits of his armor, there’s another slash that comes in which  _ freezes  _ Konjac’s arm. Sanji’s lips involuntarily tug into a grin. “Took you long enough!”

 

“Now this is quite a sight to wake up to,” Brook sings, missing a tooth but lively as ever. (“Even though I’m already dead, yohoho!” His inner Brook supplies. Everyone has an inner Brook.)

 

Chopper’s awake too, Sanji catches with a quick glance, in the process of freeing the marimo from the bind he’s in. A surprised yell and sickening crack right after, Sanji hears him wheeze “Pass me Sandai Kitetsu!” and “Put it in my mouth!” before the entire wall is cut in half, and he’s freed himself.

 

“Finally got your loose jaw back in place?” Sanji teases, hands already itching to return the katanas to their rightful owner.

 

“Shaddap, dartboard,” Zoro growls, but not angry as he strides over to Sanji, hands outstretched.

 

Sanji tries his best to hide the relief that immediately courses through him when the katanas are placed into Zoro’s waiting hands, and shoves his own into his pocket right after. “Think I prefer when you were unable to talk at all.” 

 

Chopper’s already shifted into Kung Fu point, Brook and Zoro ready with their swords, and Sanji thinks he’s exhausted enough to have imagined the distant yelling that inches closer with every second, but the wall behind them busts open with a man in armored fists studded with sharp spikes and a useless helmet too large for his head and-  _ good lord, that’s their captain. _

 

“KONJAC BASTARD! I’VE FIGURED OUT YOUR WEAKNESS!” Luffy yells too damn late, but they’re all positively breathless at the sight of the huge grin and straw hat.

  
  
  


i.

 

“So. Swordsmanship.” Zoro mumbles around a bite of green tea mochi, purposely pinched at the exterior multiple times to match with his hair. It looked pretty cute, but Zoro would never admit so.

 

“Do you not know how to speak in sentences?” Sanji replies smoothly, placing a hot cup of tea on the tray next to Zoro. “What about swordsmanship?”

 

“You’re,” Zoro swallows, disregarding the jibe and recalling his sharp moves, “a little better than average.”

 

To his surprise, if Sanji was affronted he didn’t show it, and only agreed with an offhand shrug. “Out of practice. And I’m not gonna practice ever again.”

 

The majority of Zoro understands why he wouldn’t, but there’s a little part that nags incessantly at him, wondering how different he would’ve been if Sanji had continued the path of swordsmanship, if Sanji could ever point a sword at his jugular in victory. He just grunts, finishing the snack in a few more bites.

 

His peace is interrupted only moments after Sanji leaves, a shock of black curls popping from the trapdoor.

 

“Brook.” He nods in greeting, returning to his tea.

 

“Good afternoon, Zoro-san,” He tips his hat, cane hanging limply from his forearm.

 

“Don’t patronize me,” Zoro jokes, crossing his legs. “Do you need something?”

 

“Do I seem like I’m looking for something?”

 

Zoro quirks his lips. “Both of us have been, ever since the konjac bastard.”

 

“It certainly was something, wasn’t it?” Brook says airily after a beat, moving to sit himself down on the plush couch. “Even if I missed out on most of it.”

 

“Yeah,” Zoro admits, mind travelling back to the cook wielding not one, but  _ two _ , of his precious katana, and using them to fight. He even had the sense to avoid Sandai Kitetsu; was he able to sense that it’s cursed? Zoro had never told him about the curse. He was buzzing with curiosity, and he knew Brook was, as well.

 

Oh, the woes of swordsmen.

 

“There were other forms peppered in, like his use of your swords as if they were cooking knives,” Brook chortles, Zoro clicks his tongue, “But his basis seems to be fencing. French, perhaps?”

 

“Probably,” Zoro mutters. The cook hadn’t been excessively aggressive in his attacks, nor was he fluid, but he certainly had some degree of confidence and clarity. He wasn’t too careless, either, and his moves were definitely not of an amateur's, even if rusty. “No blood was shed when he used my katana, too.”

 

“That’s true,” Brook hums around a cup of tea that Zoro realizes was his. He slurps at the drink noisily and Zoro sees why Sanji’s always kicking his skull in. “It’s likely related to his pride a a chef- Sanji-san’s never used his hands to fight.”

 

Zoro turns to his tray again, and he sees the cup of tea returned half finished but still warm.

 

“I’m not one for sparring, but the sight of such a newly displayed strength sent a chill down my spine!” He laughs, unsheathing Soul Solid. The shikomizue glints against the light from outside the crow’s nest, reflecting a part of his skull, hollow eye sockets staring straight into his own. “I would never force him into doing anything he disagrees with, of course, but if he happened to give me his consent,” Brook sheaths his sword. He leaves the sentence unfinished.

 

He doesn’t need to complete it. Zoro understands the rest, anyway.

  
  
  


ii.

 

Sanji eyes the bandages around his hands, tempted to remove them.

 

“Not for another day, at least, Sanji,” Chopper warns, frowning at his displeased expression. He’s finally removing the stitches on his leg, something Sanji’s glad for. There’s a peaceful silence for a while, until Chopper states, “You never use your hands.”

 

“That’s true,” Sanji licks the roof of his mouth, knowing what exactly Chopper was talking about. His fingers twitch.

 

“You were super cool, though!” Chopper grins suddenly, childishly, gazing at him with bright eyes. Sanji makes to pet his covered head in a burst of adoration. “Will you do that again?”

 

The hands on his hat still. “Never,” Sanji breathes with a smile that doesn’t really reach his eyes, retrieving his hand to grasp at his fingers gently. “My hands are meant for cooking. I could never risk using them to fight.”

 

Sanji thinks that twice in his life is good enough, but the first was just but a spark, and the second time ignited a small flame of equal parts excitement and fear. He knew just how much of a treasure his hands were, like how Luffy treated his straw hat and how Nami-san loved her tangerine trees. They were Laboon to Brook, and Sunny to Franky. He swore to both Zeff and himself that he’d never utilize his hands for anything other than practical usage and cooking, but...

 

“So that’s the reason why your hands were shaking when you fought,” Chopper notes, shocking Sanji.

 

“They were?”

 

“Yeah, it seems like your innate protectiveness of your hands held you back considerably,” Chopper adds, and breaks into another wide smile, “Even so, you were so cool!”

 

“Don’t analyze me, doc,” Sanji laughs, rolling his cuffed pants back down now that the stitches were taken care of.

 

“Saying that doesn’t make me happy, bastard!”

 

It’s nice and all seeing the reindeer dance in joy, but he interrupts Chopper anyway. “Try not to mention this to the rest, would you?” He knows Luffy would go starry eyed and demand to see his swordsmanship, the excitement would spread to Usopp and Franky, the commotion would attract Nami-san and Robin-chan, and he couldn’t turn them down, could he?

 

(He’s lying to himself, he knows.)

 

Chopper tilts his head in confusion, but doesn’t ask and nods his head in affirmation instead.

  
  
  


iii.

 

“Do you think you’d be able to use Santoryu?” Zoro asks in the middle of scrubbing a particularly dirty pot. Sanji doesn’t hide the groan he releases.

 

“Of course you’d have an ulterior motive when you volunteered to wash the dishes.”

 

“It’s not like you didn’t already suspect so,” He grunts, almost getting the stubborn stain out. “And it’s a perfectly innocent question.”

 

Sanji suddenly dries his hands on a dry towel, reaching for his cigarettes. “You’ve already seen me using Santoryu, no?”

 

Zoro freezes. “Huh?”

 

“This,” Sanji moves into his personal space then, sucking the last of his current cigarette and blowing smoke right into Zoro’s face.

 

“Bastard!” Zoro coughs through the smoke, taking a deep breath of fresh oxygen once it cleared. “What the hell?”

 

Sanji’s laughing when he lights another one of his cancer sticks. “How was my Ittoryu?”

 

“Looking for a fight, ah?” Zoro scowls, holding up the now stainless pot.

 

“After we’re done washing up, sure.” Sanji returns to the dishes, a light smile still lingering on his face. The cook seems less agitated with him, and he doesn’t give any indication that he wants the subject to be dropped save for his slight irritation at the start, but that’s how their relationship always was.

 

“How’d you know not to pick up Sandai Kitetsu?”

 

Sanji passes him a plate to dry. “I overheard you talking about its curse when you told Chopper about your swords.”

 

Sounds plausible, Zoro thinks, and it isn’t like the cook has a reason to lie. Zoro doesn’t press further, a gut feeling warning him against asking for a potential swordfight.

 

Zoro knows just as much as the next person, like Robin’s love for history and Usopp’s love for Merry, that Sanji valued his hands above all else. His treatment of his role as chef went deeper than any of them could possibly imagine, and Zoro doesn’t have to know any details because they’re nakama- they’re tied with the past of two years ago and the present, and nothing else.

 

“What’re you worrying your little green head over? You’ve been wiping that plate for the past three minutes.”

 

“Just making sure it’s dry, Curly,” Zoro retorts, distracted. Well, he decided, privacy above all else. He wouldn’t ask needless questions. “Gimme some booze after this. I deserve it.”

  
  
  


iv.

 

Vinsmoke Sanji, Chopper frowns, is a terrible name.

 

Vinsmoke Sanji, Brook knows, is clearly gone.

 

That damn cook, Zoro sighs, is their only cook. He’d better return.

 

Arriving at Zou only to hear that Sanji had left as the groom to a wedding by Big Mom pissed him the hell off, and Zoro isn’t stupid enough to disregard another Yonko they have been worrying about just to bring the dumbass back. He’s ready to accept whatever would come of the impromptu marriage, yet something still nags at him to tail Luffy and Nami when they ask Pekoms for details concerning the situation- Zoro’s been nothing but realistic, but the tiny, minute idealist in him wishes that wouldn’t be the last time they’d be eating his food. “You’re worried about Sanji, aren’t ya?” Luffy smiles knowingly. Zoro doesn’t give a proper response.

 

Chopper’s been a jumble of nerves ever since Zou, and hearing from Nami that “Luffy and Sanji got into a fight” was enough to poke at one of them. He sobs and yells, and Chopper’s perfectly aware he’s being childish, but Sanji’s nakama, despite his multiple shortcomings. Sanji’s one of the eight people he worked hard for two painful years they’d been separated, like hell they were gonna give him up! He wasn’t going to allow Sanji to sacrifice himself like Robin did, right in front of his eyes both times.

 

As much as he wants Sanji to come back, Brook acknowledges the possibility of him never returning to the crew again. He’s finally gotten an idea of what’s hardened Sanji, but he’s always seen boundless kindness reside behind the glares of his, and he just knows that Sanji would never abandon the crew. He’d abandoned his own dreams, his nakama, and Brook knows Sanji’s torn up, but his faith in Luffy would never waver.

 

So, when they finally hear the voice of their captain again though the tiny, broken mirror, then  _ Sanji _ , they can’t help but allow more than a few tears to escape in pure relief.

  
  


v.

 

Sanji only loves a select few. Three things, in fact. His love for women is his biggest weakness, but he’s never wanted to do away with it. Oh, just thinking about the soft curves and pretty little noises they make..!

 

Mr. 2 Bon Clay got the better of him when he’d turned into Nami-chan, and CP9’s Kalifa was ruthless with her charm, but he forgives her anyway. No matter how many times Zoro would mock him, or Chopper pull at his fur because  _ his blood type is rare and he had to stop nosebleeding over every woman he came across _ , Sanji would stand strong with the chivalry Zeff taught him.

 

Food, or more specifically, cooking food itself came next on the list. It’s stayed with him for as long as he could remember, it kept him busy in that awful cage, it gave him a family at the Baratie, allowed him to provide for another family on Merry, then Sunny.

 

He doesn’t exactly want to remember the days spent on that rock outcropping, stomach empty and eyes dull at the thought of  _ dying _ before he met the people Reiju talked about, but he never wants to forget, either; because that was what created Sanji, the child who discarded his last name. It was where he met his only father, who wasn’t extremely kind with his words and actions, but loved him more than anyone else ever did.

 

Cooking food for his second family is just a tad rowdier than it was at the Baratie, with the usual grubby rubbery fingers, and sometimes hooves looking for sweets, a moss looking to water himself with booze, among many other incidents. He appreciates that they’re not too picky, and while the pantry laments Luffy’s huge appetite, Sanji doesn’t fail to serve enough to fill his black hole of a stomach. Leftovers are never seen, because anyone who leaves their food unguarded on the table has their plate cleared in an instant. By God, Sanji absolutely loves and despises that part of his captain.

 

He couldn’t wait for All Blue, really. It didn’t matter that it was a legend- Sanji would find the mystical sea, and use the best ingredients to cook up the best feast for the people he truly loves.

 

His nakama, the people he loves with all his heart, the wonderful crew he gladly gave up to see to their safety, the stubborn family who braved the fury of a Yonko in order to get him back onto where his heart truly belonged.

  
  
  
  
  
  


six.

 

He trusts that Brook wouldn’t go for his hands, and he knows better than to think the dumbass swordsman would play dirty.

 

“GO!” Luffy, Usopp, and Chopper yell in unadulterated excitement, toothy grins stretching their faces wide.

 

“Ow! This is what summer fun is about!” He hears Franky say from where he’s barbecuing the Sea King they’d caught moments before they reached this island.

 

“Normally people smash in watermelons with bats while blindfolded, or enjoy the fireworks,” Nami states, turning her head to watch them while sunbathing.

 

Robin reaches for her iced tea, chuckling. “The first sounds dangerous, doesn’t it? One could swing a little too hard in the wrong direction and someone’s head would go flying.”

 

Brook yells at the thought. “But I’m already dead, yohoho!” 

 

“Don’t get distracted now,” Zoro rushes at them with an Oni Giri, sand underneath their feet flying into the air.

 

Sanji deflects the flying slash easily, returning one of his own to Brook.

 

Sanji would never use his hands to fight, for he was first and foremost a cook, Black Leg Sanji and the student of Red Leg Zeff, and the Straw Hat Pirates’ chef. However, he finds, panting from the thrill of sparring with the people he trusts with a sword in his hands, that he could certainly close an eye to that.

**Author's Note:**

> sanji hates konjac in canon, which i find amusing so i decided to multiply that hate by about 1.5 billion


End file.
